


The Battle of Camelot

by bluegreen1234



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms, Le Morte d'Arthur - Thomas Malory
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Camelot, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26230084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluegreen1234/pseuds/bluegreen1234
Summary: The Battle of Camelot.
Comments: 1





	The Battle of Camelot

The Battle of Camelot

“I don’t know, what if the plan doesn’t work?”

Arthur was sitting at the edge of his seat, his head buried in his hands. At a glance, his golden blonde hair was fitting amongst the jewels and ancient artifacts that surrounded his personal room. But a closer look would see how his clothes were ill fitting, like a boy playing pretend.

“Arthur, hush now, you are a king,” said the sorcerer while pouring a drink in the corner,” you need to start acting like one.”

“I’m stressed,” Arthur threw his hands in exasperation,” I have no idea how to wage this war…be a king… a _ruler_.”

“There’s no need to worry,” assured the sorcerer. He took a drink of his glass and gave Arthur a friendly smile.” I’m with you through all of this. I have all this planned out. So far you are doing great.” He gave a shrug,” All you need to do is believe you can, and you will.”

Arthur stood up from his seat and walked up to the window, barely being able to see anything but the dark field that surrounded the castle. Soon those fields would be lined with his knights, preparing themselves to face an unknown force.

He thought of the family that he had lost to a war before his time. He thought of the people who had took their place, caring for him as if he were their own.

He would have to say goodbye to Guinevere. It would most likely be awkward interaction. The two barely knew each other enough to pretend to have the passion of a queen and king that was expected of them. He would lose a life before he would ever got to live it.

The sound of nature during these tiring times would remind him of how far he had come from the serf boy he once was. He tried to take the sorcerer’s words to heart. He would have to, if there were any hopes that it would make him the king that he was born to be.

He took a deep breath and reminded himself that there was no other way. He straightened his back, posing to feign confidence.

“Thank you,” said Arthur. He turned to face the wizard,” For everything. I don’t think I could ever repay you.”

The wizard placed a comforting hand on Arthur’s shoulder. The gesture was fatherly, but his eyes inspected as one might admire a well-crafted toy.

“There is no need to repay me my dear Arthur. No need at all.”

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Hell had descended upon Camelot. From afar the mounds of dead bodies blended into the scenery of the rolling hills. Screams for death and life were indistinguishable. When a hundred men would fall, a hundred more would appear out of the mist. Blood and dirt had mixed on the ground, clinging to boots and armor. The souls of fallen knights trying to take their brothers down with them.

Arthur looked at the carnage around him, the brown dried blood matted their hair onto their tired bodies. His golden hair now matched the color of the earth, the only thing distinguishing him from rest was his bejeweled crown. The king looked around, and saw all his brave comrades slaughtering away at men who had lost the light in their eyes. His gaze locked on a fallen knight and all went silent. Arthur felt the weight of the war… all of it. And he begged to whatever high force was supporting them that they would end this war. He centered his mind, adjusted his sword, and let out a guttural scream.

\----------------------------------------------

The sorcerer looked out the window of the dark room in the castle upon the battlefield, his face illuminated by the light of bodies being burnt. He gripped his thick wooden cane, a scene that would otherwise seem normal. He was not troubled, not scared, not angry.

Behind him a silent and quick flash of light appeared that would’ve been unnoticeable by human eyes. In its place was a young woman adorned in royal jewels. Her beauty was cold and her eyes were deep and dark.

The sorcerer gave a long sigh.

“Took long enough.” He snorted.

He turned to face the woman and gave her an unimpressed stare.

“I’m _so_ sorry, Ancient One,” she snarled at him,” I would never mean to keep you waiting.” She took a defensive stance, a menacing dagger materializing in one hand and the other engulfed in a blue flame.

They circled each other around the room like two lions ready to strike. When the woman neared the window, the light of the war illuminated a rotten and unearthly face underneath the silky locks of the maiden she took the form of.

“Your time is up, my creations feed off of the faithlessness of those pitiful souls. The war is mine. This world is _mine_ ,” she screamed. The woman threw the dagger at the sorcerer, the sharp tip cutting through the air, letting out a piercing noise. The sorcerer blocked the dagger, barely missing his head.

The sorcerer rushed toward her at an inhuman speed, grabbed her by the neck and rushing his cane through her stomach. He loomed over the woman as his body elongated, covering the light from the window. The only light in the room was from his glowing eyes and the flickering flame in her hand.

“Oh, Morgana. You never learn,” said the sorcerer.

Morgana chuckled through the sorcerer’s grip. “You’ve gotten slow Ancient One,” she gasped,” You can’t kill me. I am too rooted here. My magic lives within these people.”

The sorcerer leaned in closer, the intense glow of his eyes revealing the woman’s true form underneath the beautiful façade.

“Then they shall die with you,” he whispered, tightening his grip on her throat, extinguishing the blue flame.

\----------------------------------------------

Arthur could have sworn that he heard a sigh of relief coming from his masked victim as he dislodged his sword from his opponent’s body. With his sweat mixed in hot thick blood dripping into his eyes, he looked up to see how the battlefield was faring. The scraping of metal against metal with the screams of agony and victory surrounded Arthur as he looked back to the castle. That was the last image he saw before a bright white light engulfed them all.

\----------------------------------------------

All was quiet on the farm before a black portal appeared out of thin air before a shepherd. The gate was so dark that it seemed to suck every ounce of surrounding life into its tempting gravity.

The shepherd watched in horror as a singed creature stumbled out of the portal into the dark of night, slightly illuminated by the faint glow coming off the farmer’s lamp.

Lying on the floor, the creature looked like a mound of sticks and mud. But it was given life as it slowly rose from the ground, his posture of a conquering king. The yellow glow of the lamp wrapped around the side of its horns, traveling down its form to reveal the slightly humanoid being.

“Wh-who are you,” the shepherd managed to spit out, sweat dripping down his pale like face.

The creature took a step forward with a calmness that radiated otherworldliness.

The man seemed to shrink under its presence. “Are you the devil?”

“Ha,” the creature blew out air through its nose, amusement gliding across his face. Its voice rumbled out, sounding like a chorus of deep voices, each fighting for their turn. “No… no.”

The creature surveyed the area, taking in all the night surroundings. All nature around it started to live in beat with the rise and fall of its chest, waiting for its command.

“It’s rather cold, isn’t it?” It said, looking at the farmers many layers of faded blue cloaks, its breath visible in the frigid air.

The farmer immediately started to strip off his clothes, obeying its silent command. His mind became a little more at ease, thinking that this gesture might please the creature.

When he was done the shepherd looked back up at the horrifying creature expecting to be rewarded or granted mercy for his generosity. The man’s will started to fade around him, just like the clothes littered on the floor.

The air seemed to still as the creature slowly picked up a cloak from the ground, bending his whole body as if testing it out. It wrapped the blanket around its bony shoulders and took a long breath, it’s gaze focusing on the dawn approaching.

“I am not the devil,” it said, adjusting the clothes. It then reached out a hand made of earth and flesh and gently rested it upon the man’s balding head. The man gave out a quivering sob, tears streaming down his closed eyes.

The creature recoiled its hand back into its cloak, only leaving behind a new mound of fresh dirt where the shepherd stood moments before.

“I am Merlin.”


End file.
